


Out, Damned Spot

by GingerAndHyde



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Time to shift some blame and refuse to take responsibility, and have a crisis while washing one’s hands, which is honestly a COVID mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAndHyde/pseuds/GingerAndHyde
Summary: After turning back into himself post-Carew murder, Dr Henry Jekyll has a bit of a crisis.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Out, Damned Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this at 1:30 AM, published without editing, we die like men.

I will scrub every piece of skin off of my hands until they have been rubbed raw. 

I never thought the man could have had so much blood in him.

I have seen cadavers. I have cut into living patients. Always in controlled circumstances, always with the aim to heal, always with good intent. And yet I am still surprised.

_ I wonder if the pool of blood dried up- or stayed damp- or trickled into the gutter like the rain... _

This time I broke those bones just to hear them snap. This time I tore into flesh with my own fingernails rather than a scalpel. This time I killed. 

_ There’s still dried blood on my shirtsleeves. Scrub those, too. _

I killed. I killed a  _person_.  I struck him down in the street, I clubbed him to the ground, I kept going...

And I didn’t feel anything. 

Why nothing? Why? Why could I not summon some ounce of humanity in me before the act was done? Why could I not feel before it was too late? Why did I only feel this agony when I turned back? Why?

What did I do? 

And what did I do to myself?

_ Keep scrubbing. There’s still crusted blood beneath the fingernails. _

Why did I enjoy it? Why did I laugh as I struck him down?

_ Keep washing; watch how the water turns pink with blood... _

Why did I lose control? Why did I let myself lose control? Why? Why? Why?

_ Keep washing. Not done yet. _

That could not have been me. 

I would never kill someone, would I? I would never lose control, would I? I would never have laughed, would I? No. Of course not.

_ Not done yet. _

It was not me. Not me. Hyde did it; Hyde and Hyde alone. Henry Jekyll would never. Hyde is made of evil, made of vice, made of cruelty! Of course it was him. Only him. Only ever him. Henry Jekyll is made commingled of the wicked and the good, isn’t he? Aren’t I? Wouldn’t the good in me have halted my hand, should I have moved to strike? Yes, it would have. Only aheartless monster, only a being made entirely evil, could have done such a thing. Only Edward Hyde could have done it. 

_ Keep washing. Keep washing until the skin is made raw. _

Because if I had somehow done it, not that I ever could, it would mean that I am the monster here. That this cruelty is solely my own. That I am the one to blame. This is somehow more terrifying. 

_Because it would mean that everything I’ve ever feared about myself is true._

No, it cannot be! The fault is that of Edward Hyde, and Edward Hyde alone!

_ So why is the blood still on Henry Jekyll’s hands? _

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, good old deflection of blame. Again, my j/h is not a separate consciousnesses, just one person who cannot accept that he could ever do the worst things that he has done.


End file.
